A soft ripple of reaction moved through the room.
Nothing was decided yet.
But something fundamental had shifted.
For months, Caleb had controlled the narrative with quiet precision.
Now the narrative belonged to a ten-year-old girl who had chosen to speak.
Outside the courtroom, reporters were already gathering, sensing the tension that had unfolded inside.
But Harper and I left through a side hallway.
She walked beside me silently, her backpack bouncing gently against her shoulders.
“Mom,” she said finally as we reached the elevator.
“Yes?”
“I didn’t know if showing it would make things worse.”
The elevator doors opened with a soft sound.
I knelt down so our eyes were level.
